


Offshoot

by Merit



Category: Uprooted - Naomi Novik
Genre: F/F, Misses Clause Challenge, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 15:10:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5460890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merit/pseuds/Merit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kasia goes home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Offshoot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [metonymy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/metonymy/gifts).



When Kasia was twelve, and new womanhood was blossoming in her cheeks, her mother had taken to her to the front of their home. The stoop was polished clean, the cleanest in the village, her mother said. There she had described the village, pointing out where Tomas lived with his three sons and three daughters, where the baker sold their goods and finally where Agnieszka lived. She had carefully avoided mentioning the woods, their bodies turning instinctively away from the twisted mass of trees, the wind whistling strangely when it passed through the leaves.

“This can't be your home, Kasia,” her mother whispered, her hands white as she squeezed Kasia' shoulders, the lines around her mouth deeper than the other mothers her age. “You will leave, taking my love with you, but you will be alone in the Dragon's tower.”

The rest of the village danced around the subject. Their gaze flickering to the Dragon's Tower, but their smile distant when they stared down at Kasia. Even dear Nieshka was silent. Only her mother said the words. It left Kasia feeling cold inside even though she was grateful for her mother for being the only person willing to tell her the truth.

“When they return, when the Dragon lets them go after ten years, none of the women want to stay in the Valley,” her mother was silent for several moments. “You will leave as well. Bring a brighter fortune. Because you are the best,” her mother drew her close, her hands tight on Kasia. Kasia felt a lump in her throat, but she hadn't cried in years. “I have given everything for you to be the best.” And her voice broke, tears drifting down her face and into Kasia's hair.

It was one of the few time she cried.

It was one of the few things that tempered Kasia's anger in the days, the years that followed.

 

* * *

 

The moment the Dragon wrapped a hand around Agnieszka and vanished in the flickering darkness was like a lightning bolt hit Kasia. She had cried out – Agnieszka's parents yelling with her – reaching fruitlessly after Agnieszka. But she was gone, the Dragon had taken his tribute. There was a delicate pause, the fire cracking, before the crowd seemed to sigh and move on.

Kasia couldn't look at anyone in the eyes.

She had retreated, whispers following in her wake, the hot eyes of the boys on her back.

She was the one who was supposed to be taken. Kasia clenched her hands, gripping the fine fabric of her dress. Her mother had bartered for this, before the merchant had sighed and given into her price. Even he, after spending a day in Dvernik, knew that Kasia was next to be chosen. It was finer than anything else Kasia had worn – like a bride, her mother had whispered, hands trailing over her unbound hair.

Kasia bit her lip and looked ahead. Angnieszka's parents had retreated, and with them, all sorrow seemed to leave the crowd. The festival was so much bigger this year, so many people from the Valley had encamped, expecting to see the golden haired girl of Dvernik disappear with the Dragon.

But she wasn't going anywhere, Kasia realised.

The first boy who approached her, yelled on by his friends, gangling but handsome enough, she had ignored. Shaking her head as his made his advances. Kasia turned her head away and the boys laughed. They were laughing at the boy at first, but they were all watching her. The boys of the village had never paid much attention to her before. Her mother said there was no use in courting a girl who would leave with another man, her tone matter of fact, as she brushed Kasia's hair an extra hundred times.

And courting had never entered Kasia's mind either. Not with her mother insisting she perfect her sewing technique, her cooking, her everything. Until she had stood in front of the Dragon, the man's eyes boring into her and then he had swept past her to Agnieszka.

Agnieszka who had never had the burden of knowing she would be taken by the Dragon. Agnieszka who had gazed her, eyes full of sympathy and love, but had never said anything. Agnieszka who had grown up loved by her family, who never had expectations to be perfect, to be the best, thrust upon her,

She instantly hated herself.

Agnieszka was in the Dragon's Tower now and who knew what the monster was doing to her. Kasia had wondered. She had nightmares about the man's touch.

Kasia swallowed heavily. Her eyes were full of tears when the next boy approached her and she could smell the beer of his breath before he was even close. It was overwhelming when he reached for her, laughing that a dance would make her smile and Kasia could only lean away, scrambling backwards.

He stared at her like she had betrayed him.

She ran home.

It wouldn't always be like this, she promised herself, golden hair heavy on her shoulder. It would get better. Kasia wrapped her arms around herself, her breath hitching as she tried to hold back her sobs.

Even if Agnieszka was never coming back.

The girls the Dragon took never stayed long in the Valley after all.

Kasia wept.

 

* * *

 

“It hasn't been forged over a hundred years to defeat an ancient evil,” Alosha said, crossing her arms and giving the sword a critical glance, “But it had been spelled for loyalty and protection.” She turned her gaze to Kasia and if Kasia had been mortal, if she had been flesh and blood, and not immoveable wood, she might have blushed or quailed. Instead she met Alosha's gaze steadily. “If swung in protection, if swung while upholding your oaths,” Alosha continued quietly, “Your strength shall be doubled and the sword shall be thrice as sharp.”

Kasia gripped the hilt of the sword and spun it experimentally. She had really only been practising for a few years and her forms weren't perfect but. The sword glided like a dancer through the air and unlike the half dozen swords that Kasia had practised with, it didn't feel ridiculously light. As she moved through some forms, she smiled.

“You made this for me,” Kasia said, lunging and thrusting the sword forward. Alosha stepped back, moving to her work bench. There were several papers on it and Alosha's lips seemed to move as she read them, frowning occasionally. Kasia hardly noticed, caught up in exhilaration of a sword that finally fit her, that didn't twist and warp under her fingertips.

“I made it in service of the Crown,” Alosha murmured, turning just as Kasia was finishing a form, her golden hair falling like autumn leaves on her shoulders. “And you too, I suppose.” Her fingers tapped a pattern, sharp and discordant, and there was a frown on her face. “When was the last time you were home?”

 

* * *

 

Jaga was a witch of forests, of small woods and the end of the garden, where stubborn weeds were sometimes ignored. At the castle by the sea, the children's voices just ahead of her, behind a bend of stone cliff, she was not what Kasia was expecting. She would have never recognised her, if she didn't have Agnieszka's whispers in her ear, their hands clasped despite the heat in the air, telling Kasia of her great, sorrowful adventure. The old lady blinked, running a hand through her wild white hair and gave Kasia a nod. She had appeared suddenly, no great crack of lightning, merely a ripple of the air and she was there. She leaned back, looking past the great castle, pennants snapping in the sea wind and shook her head.

“They don't tell you about back pains when you're young,” Jaga said, her voice carrying over the breeze and right into Kasia's ears. Kasia nodded, because her mother had always told her to respect her elders, respect the Dragon the oldest of them all. She hadn't seen him, when she was seven, when someone else's daughter had been taken. Another girl had been marked as the chosen one, a girl with golden blonde hair and a kind smile.

But she dreamed of seeing him. Only glimpse, because no one wanted their daughter to be too close to him and in any case the girl had been taken from a different village. Kasia had imagined scales, great vast dragon wings that would sweep the terrified girl away. He had been disturbingly human when he had came to chose her, a man not a monster, even if he was taking her away. She saw gold embroidery and rings flashing from the bonfires.

But then he had changed everything when he took a hold of Agnieszka and vanished, Kasia's heart had jumped in her chest, searing pain that didn't fade when she looked up and saw the shocked faces of the villagers, her mother white as snow even with the fires leaping up behind her.

“Of course,” she said, giving Kasia a narrow stare, taking in her appearance, “They never tell you about flesh made wood either, do they?”

The stories had never said Jaga was evil. Kasia smiled, light and easy, her sword in easy reach, spelled by Alosha herself to ward off magic and evil spells. She had been taken by the Wood-Witch and had nearly died. And herself? What was there to fear? “They do not,” she murmured. The witch laughed and it wasn't the evil laugh out of fairy tales, but rich and velvety and for a moment Kasia saw what sort of woman Jaga had been when she was young, before she became a legend. The woman, young and old, smiled at her.

“You must go home,” Jaga declared. And once more there was a ripple, nothing more ostentatious and she was gone again. The sea air came rushing in again, as well as the cries and laughter of the children. Kasia paused for a moment, hand on her sword hilt, the spells comfortingly warm under her fingers. Before she stepped forward and followed the children, walking past the foot prints Jaga had left behind, rapidly being swallowed by the ocean. Home, the word echoing in her head, her limbs moving slowly – she had never liked the ocean as much as she had imagined. Perhaps it was the change that happened to her, made wood, when she had been flesh. But, alas, this was something that no one had told her.

Home was her room, in the middle of the tower, narrow arrow slits for windows but when the morning sun hit in the morning, the room was bright and yellow. She had a few trinkets, gifts from Masha, letters from her mother, letters from Agnieszka. But it was hers alone when home was supposed to mean a small cottage, her sister's breath warm against her face, her mother pacing into the night. Enough time and the Dragon's tower would have been home, ten years and then. She would have been free to leave the village, to leave the valley, to leave Agnieszka. Kasia crushed the thought and walked to one of the windows, the sea a distant roar this far up, this far away. Her hair settled behind her, a rustle of leaves on a cold autumn's day before the first snows had fallen.

Her body had become not her own, in those first hurried days and weeks. She had been told, growing up, that one day she would belong to her husband, the priest's eyes glossing over her fair head. Even then she had been marked, chosen and the whole village had been silent on the matter. Only after, after Agnieszka had been chosen and Kasia had been left behind, that she had been told that again. The boys had swarmed over her, locusts, faces turning away. From her Her purity hadn't been ruined by the Dragon and suddenly she was eligible. Kasia had been disgusted. Her new form, unwieldy and stubborn and so utterly not human, had been a relief.

 

* * *

 

The winds whipped the trees into a frenzy, young birch shivering in the night, fearing the coming winter. Even though the Wood Witch had been tamed years ago, Kasia still cast an uneasy glance into the wood. The merchant had left her in Dvernik – and wasn't that new? Merchants of all sorts wanted to go to the valley and they weren't the only sort these days – and he had almost asked if she would be alright, travelling alone. But Kasia had dismounted the wagon with a heavy thud and the man had paled and merely nodded a farewell to her.

Kasia had smiled slowly at him, bowing slightly, the sword at her waist thunking against her thigh. The merchant hurried to an inn – also new, Kasia noted, the freshly white washed walls, the thatch still smelling a bit like summer. She turned away from the yellow welcoming light, past the brightness and the sound of laughter, abruptly quiet again when the door was closed. Past the inn the village was quiet, children in their beds, husbands and wives also in their beds, sleeping or not.

The wind grew stronger outside of the village, no longer buffered by cottages. Kasia's hair rose, like leaves at the start of spring, then settled on her shoulders again. The first time she had tried to cut her hair, she had dulled and broken three pairs of scissors in quick succession. Alosha had clucked her tongue and dryly suggested an axe instead. The word settled uneasily in Kasia's stomach now. Kasia had settled for a dagger, the edge grazing her ears as she cut her hair short. She hadn't bled, the wound, if she could call it that, had darkened before fading.

In the distance, Agnieszka's cottage was a beacon, the last refuge before the wood began and the trees shook, as if welcoming, warning her. Less than a hundred paces from Agnieszka's cottage, Kasia paused and looked back at the village. Once she had considered it home, once she had considered her mother's actions a cruel kindness before it had all been for naught and instead Agnieszka had been taken by the Dragon. She twisted again, sounding more like the wood in front of her than any woman she knew. The Dragon's tower still stood, off in the distance, but there were no lights that high other than the stars.

The leaves crunched under her feet, dull even under the starlight. When the sun rose they would be ruby red, bright orange and vivid yellows. Kasia walked past them and into Agnieszka's garden, areas still cluttered with the harvest, other patches of earth bare and scattered with clover, all readying for the winter. Before Kasia could knock, before she could even place a foot on the door step, Agnieszka, sweet Agnieszka even with power twirling her hair, electrifying her fingers, had opened the door. She smiled brightly at Kasia and stepped forward, her arms open for an embrace.

Home could never be Dvernik. Home had only been Agineszka.

Kasia sighed deeply as she wrapped her arms around Agnieszka, delicate because Agnieszka was mere flesh and bone, while Kasia was stronger than a hundred year old oak.

 

* * *

 

Later, when the sky was brightening, the merest edge of light cresting at the horizon, Kasia and Nieshka were settled on Agineszka's bed. It had creaked alarmingly when Kasia had sat on it but Agnieszka had just laughed, a tinkle that Kasia had sorely missed. She had never been homesick, no never, but she had missed, longed to see Agnieszka's face again.

“I made it strong enough for you,” Agnieszka had whispered and Kasia couldn't really blush any more, but there was a dull heat in her cheeks, as if the noon day sun was hitting them.

They had talked, silly things mostly at first, till their words had slowed and their fears had come out. War might be coming and Kasia couldn't stop it by herself. She was strong, but stopping wars involved slippery words and now, Kasia, found it hard to bend that way. Her mind had changed when she was made this way but she couldn't feel regret not when it meant that she would be dead.

Agnieszka spoke of the terrible, tragic things she saw in the woods, the terrible, tragic events that happened in the small scattered villages across the valley. “It'll get better,” she murmured, frowning so sweetly that Kasia could help herself, she presses a kiss against Agnieszka's forehead, a brush of a dry leaf against her smooth skin. Agnieszka started, looking at Kasia with wide, bright eyes. Then she smiled, sleepy like and wrapped an arm around Kasia. “We have long years ahead of us, don't we?” She said, almost musically, as the birds started their morning songs outside.

“I won't be here,” Kasia said, the truth hitting her that it came out like a gasp. “I won't be ever living here again,” she said, lowering her gaze, not wanting to see the disappointment, the sadness in Agnieszka's eyes.

“I know,” Agnieszka said, sounding far older than their years. “You have the prince and princess to protect,” she said, though the prince was a king now.

It was a convenient excuse. But it wasn't the true reason. “The valley hurt me,” Kasia said, and it was only because Agnieszka was so close, that Kasia could see the delicate veins in her gently curved ears, that Agnieszka was able to hear. “It broke me. That's why all the girls chosen by the Dragon left,” she said.

Agnieszka was silent for several moments. The sun rose, light leaving half of Nieshka's face in shadow, hair brightly lit up. “This is my home,” she said, and it was nothing Kasia didn't know. Agnieszka had breathed in the valley and not even fighting the Wood-Witch had broken the hold on her. “But you're my dear Kasia,” she murmured, pressing a kiss at Kasia's hairline, quick and sweet. “And I'll visit you by the sea.”

Kasia smiled.

“It would be nice to see your home,” Agnieszka whispered, eyes luminous as they both leaned in and kissed.

 


End file.
